Aviation Prototype
by Sadistic Nightmare
Summary: "You just don't know when the hell to give up, do you?" He takes a few steps closer, his long strides diminishing the distance between the two tributes "Cato." The name unknowingly slips from her parted lips and she scrambles to a standing position. A false sense of protection overcomes her when she grabs a hold a broken arrow. A false hope for survival. Focus, think, hunt. Escape.
1. Avis

_the tired sunsets and the tired_

_people-_

_it takes a lifetime to die and_

_no time at_

_all._

**-Aviation Prototype-**

She futilely fights back with all her might. Kicking and punching, scratching and biting. Doing anything she can in her current situation. Something, anything, please. Stop. Prim. No. Don't watch. But she never utters a please, begs or shows signs of weakness aside from that of her obvious distressed state. Her efforts are all in vain though, for strong calloused fingers slide through her skin reaching the slender neck connecting her body. The massive hand is warm and soothing almost reassuring before pressuring slowly, squeezing the life out of her, leaving her breathless, greedy for air. Craving for the oxygen her body is cruelly denied from. Her desperation is short lived though for in a blink of an eye the pressure on her neck tightens to a bruising grip making it feel like it will snap her frail, gentle neck like a twig. Black spots fill her vision before blurring to a monochromatic mess and finally residing to a silent, queer darkness. Far too still and calm, unnatural, uncommon and although she feels like submitting to the silent darkness that is most likely her death, she struggles against it like waves crashing against her body, fighting against a violent current that sweeps her off her feet and into swift state of unconsciousness.

There is no rest, no physical or mental refreshment when she awakens. The reassuring calmness after sleep is nonexistent and she is unable to hold back a flinch and hiss of pain when a bruise has fully bloomed against her slender neck. Curiously pressing her olive skinned, cautions finger on her neck emits a yelp of both pain and surprise and she immediately regrets it.

A shadow shifts amongst the surrounding darkness; the dim light from an unknown source to her only creates more shadows among the existing ones, turning them in to a possible enemy at any given moment. Her ears turns into her eyes -cool, calm, collected, a hunter- and she strains them when she hears the light taps of footsteps, soon turning into dull thuds against the ground. Her enemy clearly not caring to hide his presence as if no harm would come his way, too powerful to be defeated, too arrogant to care or simply stupid. And there is only one man in the area who could -in her opinion- be all of the above.

"Cato."

The name unknowingly slips from her parted lips and she scrambles to a standing position with difficulty while simultaneously searching for a weapon, something,_ anything _would do. A false sense of protection overcomes her when she grabs a hold of long, thin object. Pointy on one end with jagged edged on the other.

A broken arrow. A false hope for survival.

Rising as quick as she can, nausea and dizziness take over her before heavily leaning against a moist wall she hides the broken arrow. The footsteps quicken loudly and she can barely see through the dim light a tall outline of broad, masculine and defined shoulders with long, strong -chocking- limbs, messy pale hair, those deep icy blue eyes and that trademark smirk tugged on his lips.

"Imbecile."

If possible, the smirk only widens turning into a crooked grin.

"Fire girl."

A scowl covers her features and enough fire burns in those stormy grey eyes to send a shiver of excitement on the District Two's spine.

"You just don't know when the hell to give up, do you?"

He takes a few steps closer, his long strides diminishing the distance between the two tributes but Katniss holds her ground, tensing, muscles clenched in tension, preparing for a sign of thread to attack.

"Especially to the likes of you."

A guttural bark of laughter emits from his chest while he throws his head back, knife shaking in hand. If she can just in some way -anyhow- wrench that knife away from him, dodge it long enough to stab the arrow through that monster... but close combat is suicidal and somehow unavoidable.

Katniss inhales deeply somehow finding it deep within her to hope for the best while expect for the worst. And as she darts her eyes around she sees, for the first time she sees and hears clearly in that dim lit, confined space that she guesses could be a cave. Why she's still alive and how she got here is beyond her but now is not time for questions.

Focus, think, hunt. _Escape._

Beside Cato's right foot is a rock, the floor is slick enough and if she can manage to pretend to run on his right side, dodge quickly enough and kick him off his feet causing him to stumble with enough time for her to run for it and escape then maybe, _just maybe_, she might survive. There's a slim chance of survival but there's no other option.

Hope for the best, expect the worst.

"You're pretty stubborn Twelve, I'll give you that and fucking lucky. If it hadn't been for those fire-"

Before he can utter another word she makes a mad dash to his right, seen him tense, eyes widening in shock before an arrogant smirk plasters his equally arrogant and handsome face, knife poised at his side, eyes narrowed. Just as he's about to raise his knife and brutally stab it through her ribcage, she halts a step away from his murderous arch, in a blink sliding to the left and dropping low, away from his -life squeezing- arms and kicking out a leg. Unbalanced the blonde tribute slips on the sleek cave, tumbles on that nearly invisible rock on his right and that's all Katniss needs. That's everything she needs.

The brunette kicks out, madly sprinting for the exit she saw behind the brute while laughing his arse off, -let's see who's laughing now, prick- and into the scandalous river she heard. She's this close- oh God almost there, only a couple more steps. Please, please. - and that's when she feels it. A rough tug on her leg and she's crashing down. Crying out when she harshly slams to the rough ground, skinning her elbows, landing on her side. And she can, without hesitation, swear that the towering male before her is without doubt one of the most terrifying sights in her life.

Expect the worst.


	2. Passarola

**There will come a time when you believe everything is finished.**

It's probably one of the most intense fights the Capitol has ever seen. A fight of will power and dominance.

Curses and swears, shout and yells. Pain is not uncommon and death would be a relief. But neither can back down. One for glory, other for survival. In the end, it's just pure entertainment for the sick, demented bastards from the Capitol.

"You're always full of surprises for me, aren't you fire girl?" he all but growls above her.

A sneer meets the comment and he grunts in pain when she kicks his toned abdomen. He has a arm pinned down, the other one reaching for her neck, knife discarded in a corner, towering over the female twelve tribute anger flaring out of his pores. He'll make sure to give a good show. A slow, agonizing death that will be remembered throughout all the games.

She's under him, trying desperately to snap out of his grasp, her body ferociously fighting back. Although he is stronger than her, she is much more flexible. And somehow, Katniss manages to slip her legs from underneath his, drawing them close to her torso and skillfully wrap them around his neck.

"Thought...I'd return the favor."

She's squeezing the lights out of him with her thighs. Her thighs. Of all things. And if it weren't for the fact, that he's actually dying, he would have noticed certain pleasant aspects about her skinny yet well developed body. Her light green shirt which is damp from crossing the river clings to her every curve, ridding above her navel and revealing smooth olive skin, jacket and belt discarded somewhere in the cave. If he could, he would shake his head but instead settle for mentally slapping himself for getting distracted at the face of death.

He's gasping for breath, face red when he brushes her bruised neck, her lock on his neck wavers, briefly, and he knows how to take her down. His fingers skim the unnaturally colored flesh and she grits her teeth before he gets a firm hold of her.

Her eyes almost tear up at the pain and she wants to yell at the cameras for Prim to look away. Her hands move frantically once again trying to pride his fingers off, her hand falls miserably to the side, thighs loosening their hold, vision filling with black spots again when she remembers. Katniss takes a hold of it firmly, digging her nails into her palm, gripping it securely. Her legs let go of him and Cato's muscled body nearly topples over hears, she summons the last of her strength, stabs the edge of the arrow into his bicep, smirking in satisfaction when she feels a pained hiss fanned across her face and rotates their position, gasping for breath.

His icy blue eyes burn with hatred, loathing for her very being.

She's a survivor, he should have known better.

**A**

**v**

**i**

**a**

**t**

**i**

**o**

**n**

_Prototype-_

Katniss yanks the bloodied arrow, earning another pained hiss followed by a grunt and points it straight to his jugular vein. One false move and he's gone.

But somehow, through the hate and the loathing she finds the damned man chuckling to himself. She knows she should kill him now, end it quickly once and for all but she can't find the will to do so. Cato's not a man to laugh at his death if anything he would be cursing and swearing the very day she was born and she tells herself that he must have a valid reason.

But why should it matter? Kill him now.

What he says next though, hushed the voice.

"Maybe I should have let you burn to hell in that fire. The irony it would create. But you're quite something else."

"Fire?"

"After I strangled you. Seems the Gamemakers didn't want you dead just yet and launched fireballs to the arena. Us. So I dragged you away with me. Can't have some fire spoiling what's mine."

She knows, her instincts screaming at her to end it now. End the threat. But a life for a life and she hates owing to anyone. She must pay to this debt. Even to a Capitol scum like him.

A life for a life.

"You're feisty."

She eyes him critically but feels no threats from him at the moment. She has the upper hand and she can't help but love the feeling, even for a bit.

"Thank you." She replies sarcastically, still tense a top the male below her.

"I like that."

She nearly rolls her eyes at that but keeps a firm gaze at him, finally sighing in defeat, she slams a battered fist into his skull. Hard enough to knock him out but light enough not to create any critical damage. Although from now on, it doesn't really matter, she thinks as she slowly rises from the unconscious man below her, glancing around the cave and noticing her bow and arrow a few feet away and vaguely wondering how that broken arrow ended up around her. Probably on an enraged tantrum because of the fire and unable to kill her properly Cato punched a couple of things and broke the arrow, flinging it somewhere around the cave. Shrugging she gathers her things and takes a few of his supplies. It doesn't matter,

really-

She gazes at the fallen man behind her. Slumbering in what is probably the most unthreatening state she will ever see him aside from his death

-because-

-next time there won't be any mercy.

**That will be the **_beginning._


	3. Wright Flyer

"_**If you expect the worst, you'll never be disappointed."  
― **__**Sarah Dessen**__**, **__**Lock and Key**_

There was no time to think. Act, run, fast, escape, _survive. _

Without another glaze back at the unconscious boy- no, monster, there is no way any sane person would ever willingly come to this twisted game, except herself of course- she discreetly leaves the cave. There is no time to check the supplies she carries with her and truthfully she doesn't care, as long as she has her much needed bow and arrow, Katniss stands a chance to survive, to win and come back to Prim. A not so distant murmur of voices snaps her out of her inner thoughts, a chill she suppresses courses through her body and knowing without exactly knowing how it's _them,_ Katniss ducks between the bushes, laying low and waiting for the perfect moment to run, putting as much distance between herself and the group of blood thirsty murders.

**There are moments when everything goes well; **

It's only when she sees the Career's feet walking among the clearing she was just a few breaths ago, that she see the blood._ Her_ blood. A little trail of scarlet life liquid that could be her death. Katniss glances at her body for the first time and finally notices the multiple gashes and bruises adoring her body. She can't certainly tell when one begins and the other ends, when one bruise was formed or how and once again, she can't really fathom any care for her battered body and silently hopes against hope that none of the Careers notice the trail. With the minimum effort, movement and noise she can cause, Katniss slips an arrow across her bow. Better prepared and going down with a fight than waiting defenseless.

**don't be frightened,**

As if to mock what remains of her hopes, a career male suddenly stops in his tracks, crouches low, inspecting the blood on the floor, finger sliding across the ground. Katniss can't see who it is but her body tenses all the same when the guy takes a few steps towards her direction. Her grip on the bow tightens, arrow slowly being drawn back in a silent warning. A pair of boots blocks her vision, hand reaching out towards her; Katniss holds her breath, ready to attack without a second thought.

_Silly girl, you should have known better by now, it's only going to get hopelessly complicated__._

A surprised yelp coming from the cave sends the boots away, walking farther and farther away from her and she almost sighs in relief. Almost. Katniss knows she's not safe yet and never will be as long as she's there. Exhaling slowly through her nose, she lets her grip on the arrow loosen just a bit. Knowing her time is limited with that dreaded bloody trail pointing her direction, she takes advantage of the diversion to slowly make her get away.

As quietly as she can, the brown hair girl gradually crawls away from her position, holding a firm grip on her supplies and weapons, mindful of the bag full of arrows strapped across her back. Silently wondering if sparing his life was a mistake after all.

AVIATION

_P_

_R_

_O_

_T_

_O_

_T_

_Y_

_P_

_E_

**it won't last.**

It is not the trail of blood that gives her away, or the spontaneous snap of a twig, not even the hawk like eyes of a career. It's a glance. A brief, cautious glance over her shoulder that connects with the shocked form of Peeta. His eyes widen, posture tense and mouth slightly agape.

A career she can't quite see, notices Peeta's stunned and shaken appearance, following his line of vision with narrowing eyes, he sees Katniss' crouching figure. Before he can make a sound, Katniss stirs into a standing position, bow in hand and arrow half way down the male's throat. A chocked gasp and a loud thump catch Marvel's attention. Katniss is already running for her life towards the shelter of the tall trees at the edge of the clearing when she hears rather than sees the speeding hiss of his spear. With every instinct of her being and senses on high alert, she dodges to the right, pass a tree and stagers back against said tree. The shock of the impact knocks the bow from her fingers and with desperate fingers she feels the speartightly logged into the strap of her arrows and deep within the tree's trunk. Katniss hastily slips herself from the arrow's strap noticing how Marvel raises another spear for a second _permanent _blow but just as he's about to throw the weapon, Clover, Katniss recalls the deadly girl's name, knocks the weapon from his strong hands by aiming one of her sharp knives at his hand. Her knife lightly strikes his hand leaving a small incision but Katniss doesn't stick around to understand the girl's bizarre actions. Sprinting with all her might and without much choice, Katniss abandons the bow and arrows she desperately needs hearing an enraged "What the fuck was that for, you crazy bitch?! I had her!" before she disappears in the foliage of the forest confirming once again with her heart beating a lullaby of barely concealed terror, pumping through her veins, that things can possibly get worse without _any possible limit._

"Do you have a death wish, idiot? Be grateful I stopped you."

A confused glare meets her remarks and Cloves sighs in annoyance as if the mere thought of explaining herself would be take too much effort. And it probably did.

"Listen idiot, if you killed that Twelve District scum, you'd be dead the second Cato woke up. If there's anything District Two tributes respect, it's each other's preys. Once Cato sets his eyes on someone he wants to kill, he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. And if anything or anyone gets in the way, there'll be hell to pay. Although I could care less about you, you still have some use in this group and I don't want to see Cato hell bent on killing all of us just because of your foolishness."

Peeta casts his eyes downward, lips pressed in a firm line, body tense with sweat lingering on his forehead. A smirk covered Clove's small lips, "Consider your girlfriend dead, lover boy."

"_**From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back."  
**__**― **__**Franz Kafka**_


End file.
